


That’s messed up.

by countrygirlsfun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cursed, Drunk Witches, Ignore season 3b and 4, M/M, Magic, POV Alternating, Wings, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countrygirlsfun/pseuds/countrygirlsfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So let me see if I got this right, my son was cursed  by drunk witches who weren’t following the rules of cursing people.”<br/>“Pretty much, yes.”<br/>“Right.”</p><p>Or the one where Stiles is cursed and logic is abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That’s messed up.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I mention logic is abandoned?

Scott and Isaac had let themselves into the Stilinski household looking for Stiles. With Derek up and leaving they were going to have to rely on Stiles ability to figure out the impossible even more now. The last couple days they felt like something was coming. _Someone_ was coming.

It felt, well it felt similar to when Jennifer Blake had come to town. Not exactly the same, but the power, the magic was definitely there. Luckily it felt the strongest in the preserve so they were familiar with where they had to look.  They needed Stiles to look up anything he had on witches because that's what they were guessing on this.

So they showed up at his house and because Stiles had bitched about them using the window so much lately they used the kitchen door. As they made their way up the stairs they heard Stiles mumbling and random sounds like a shirt hitting the wall and a book falling to the ground. But when they swung the door to Stiles bedroom open they still were shocked.

Isaac was at a loss.

"What the hell are you doing Stilinski?"

"Shit dude."

Stiles was standing in the middle of his room in just his lacrosse shorts. His hair looked like he'd been dragging his fingers through it for hours. He had some pretty impressive circles under his eyes and his hands shook. His room looked like a tornado had come through it. Papers, clothes, books, food; everything was thrown around the room at random.

"I can't find it."

"Can't find what Stiles?"

Scott's voice was soothing in an instant and Isaac couldn't help but think Scott had walked in on something like this before.

"A book."

Stiles says as he throws himself on the ground and starts pulling things out from under his bed.

"My mom's copy of Monte Christo."

"Ok, we'll help you look-"

"Why do you need it so bad?"

Isaac cut in clearly impatient with whatever the hell Stiles was doing right now.  
Stiles shot him a glare before looking to Scott in a way he hoped said 'can you explain?' before he went back to rummaging under his bed.  
Once Stiles had pulled himself half under the bed Scott turned to Isaac and waved his phone at him. Sure enough Isaac had a text from Scott.

_We just have to find the book. He won't stop until he finds it._

Isaac shrugged and started to work around the room choosing to start with the clothes. Stiles crawled out from under the bed and stayed sprawled out on the ground. He stared at the ceiling thinking, trying to remember the last place he'd had the book. _  
_

It had been on his bookshelf. Did he borrow it to someone? No. He'd borrow them his copy not his mom's. Where the hell is the book?

After Stiles didn't move at all for 5 whole minutes Scott grew more concerned.

"Stiles when did you start looking for it?"

"Huh, oh uh. I was thinking about it at lunch yesterday and I started looking when I got home from school."

"Did you eat?"

 As if he was just realizing he was hungry Stiles dragged his hand across his stomach and rubbed at his eyes with his other.

"Or sleep?"

As if to prove Scott's point again Stiles yawned before he answered.

"I think I slept from like 3 until I woke up at 5."

Isaac was still cleaning as he looked. He came upon a pile of books under Stiles' hoodies.

"Name of the book again?"

"The Count of Monte Christo."

"But not this copy?"

"That's mine; I have my mom’s somewhere too I was looking for the notes she'd written in the margin."

 Isaac looked like he's trying to remember something. Scott's about to give up and drag Stiles down to the kitchen and feed him when Isaac speaks up again.

"I think I saw a copy at the loft a while ago. Derek was reading it before I think."

Stiles perked up at that, pushing himself up on an elbow to face Isaac.

"Call him, see if he's got it. Cause I swear it's not here."

Isaac snorted.

"I doubt calling his voicemail will be very helpful."

Stiles' face scrunched up in confusion.

"He doesn't answer for you guys either?"

"Nope."

"Where did he go?"

Isaac stood up, dropping the books back onto the pile.

"Not something he shared with me."

"Stiles how about you eat some breakfast and get some sleep and then we can go over to the loft and look there too?"

Scott lifted his friend off the floor and started to half carry him towards the stairs. Stiles just nodded and went wherever Scott was taking him. Scott could practically see the questions rolling around in his friend’s brain.He managed to get a little bit of food into Stiles before dragging him back upstairs and dumping him in his bed and then decided they could come back later. They were driving back to Scott's house when Isaac couldn't hold in his curiosity.

"So that was weird."

"He gets like that sometimes. He can't help it. We've actually gotten really lucky that he manages to make research what he focuses on."

"Yeah you think you explained something there but you didn't."

Scott shrugged. "His ADHD; sometimes he gets really focused on something and he won't be able to stop. One time I came over and the house was spotless. He'd cleaned everything and I found him asleep in the bathtub."

"What about the witches?"

"We don't know they're witches. But it can wait for a couple hours while he sleeps."

Meanwhile, Stiles was pretty much asleep as he hit his pillow. He really loves his best friend. He just really wanted to find the quote that his mom had written in the book and he'd almost had panic attack when he couldn't find it and searched all night to find it. Had Derek taken it? Did he really forget that he'd borrowed it to him? Seriously it was weird.

He was drifting in and out of sleep when he heard noises outside his window. It was like the wind chimes people hang on their porches. But they didn't have any on their house. And their neighbors didn't either. Stiles was too tired to question it and rolled over clutching his pillow and fell back asleep.

\---

Later in the afternoon Scott gets a text from Stiles that he's awake. He and Isaac go back over to his house where they bounce theories back and forth about what or who it could be. They end up heading out to the preserve to look around and that's where they find them.

The three women are actually standing around a cauldron watching it bubble. Stiles is surprised they aren't saying anything and mumbles.

"Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble."

But they hear him as the boys walk up.

"Someone paid attention during Macbeth."

One of the witches giggled. Seriously, they _giggled_. 

"Someone had to."

Scott, taking a leaf from Derek, skipped the niceties and jumped to the important parts.

"What are you making?"

"Just a little spell to draw some more power from the nemeton."

The witch waved a hand at the wolves like 'it's really nothing,' slurring her words a little. 

"That's what you are doing here?"

"In Beacon Hills? We've been here before. We were just passing through this time."

 God, they sounded drunk to Stiles. 

"Were? What made you stay this time?"

"We've waited long enough."

"Waited for what."

"For him."

 They pointed at Stiles. _Awh shit._

"Me? What do you want with me?"

"We've known for some time your potential. We've watched you grow into it."

"You always seem to be making a mess around you though. Your parents’ lives, your father's health, your house, your locker, your room, your life. We've been waiting to see if you'd grow out of it. Now it seem it will just be something to deal with when you join us."

"Screw you. The day pigs fly will be the day I join you."

Angry and a lot insulted Stile picked up a pine cone and threw it into the cauldron. The spell jumped and fizzled until the liquid was clear and useless. The witches rounded on them, still possibly drunk but appearing more and more to still be coherent and very capable. Scott and Isaac put themselves in front of Stiles.

"Pigs may not fly but you will."

They chanted an incantation faster than Stiles could understand and then he was feeling a little woozy before he felt himself falling to the ground. He was focusing on not losing consciousness while Scott and Isaac had wolfed out and were yelling at the witches. But everything went blurry and fuzzy and out of focus and he gave in and passed out.

\---

"What did you do to him?"

Scott shouts as he and Isaac catch Stiles and ease him to the ground.

"The curse will fade in time."

"When he works through the mess he's made."

"Maybe."

 "What?!" Scott yells incredulously.

"That doesn't even make sense! What mess?!" Isaac adds.

The witches shrug like they don't care their reasoning is petty and faulty. The turn away from the teenagers, stagger three steps and vanish.

Stiles wakes up to the sound of wind chimes flat on his back in the forest. He's got both werewolves leaning over him.

"Did I really get hit with a spell from drunken witches and faint?"

"Yeah, dude. You ok?"

"I think so."

He grunts as he sits up. Isaac helps him when he sways on his feet.

"Less ok. Did I land on something? My back is killing me."

Scott looks concerned still. 

"No. We didn't let you fall."

They walked back to the cars and told Stiles what the witches said about the supposed curse.

"I still don't understand what the curse is. Ever increasing back pain? That's all I got going on right now."

He stops whining though because for as much as he knows, it seems that Scott and Isaac are equally confused. He lays down in the back of his Jeep and lets Scott drive his baby home. He's tired all of a sudden again and just really wants a nap. Scott takes him home and he registers getting into his house somehow and through his bedroom door before he's asleep on his feet.

\---

He wakes up and checks his phone. The screen is so bright and he squints as he turns the brightness level down as far as it will go. He's got a message from Scott telling him that he and Isaac left when Lydia got there. He vaguely recalls trashing his room looking for a book before leaving on the grand witch hunt. He rolls onto his back and cringes when he sees Lydia perched in his desk chair.

"Sorry for the mess-"

He doesn't get to finish apologizing or expressing his embarrassment before she cuts in.

"Scott told me you were looking for something. The laundry was all clean, it’s not like your underwear was thrown around too. It's like the one thing that you managed to get into your laundry hamper." 

Thank you, Scott. Best. Friend. Ever.

Even if he and Lydia have a solid friendship going that doesn't mean he wants her to see his Avengers boxer collection. 

"You've been asleep for an hour and I didn't bring enough reading material so thank me for cleaning your room later."

She stands and comes to sit next to him on the bed.

"Still in pain?"

 He shakes his head.

"Not right now at least. I just wish their curse made sense, I mean, how am I supposed to fix the problem if I don't know what I did wrong.  How do I get to the resolution of my story without knowing the conflict?"

"You're assuming you're the protagonist of the story, bit presumptuous isn't it Stiles?"

 He rolls his eyes at her as he sits up. 

"Excuse me who got hit with the curse? I was hardly the only option, they could have done something to the wolves like, I don't know turned them into puppies or something but no they chose little old me. So yeah, self-proclaimed batman of this story but I'm the one with pain shooting up and down his spine so I'm claiming the role of protagonist in this little adventure."

 She's actually looking concerned now though he sees before he's flopping back onto the bed. 

" _Shooting_ pain? Where? You said you were fine!"

"My spine, into my ribs, down into my ass, everywhere. It’s just everywhere Lyds."

 He's got an arm thrown over his face so he misses the way she purses her lips and flaunts out of the room. Next thing he knows she's back and there's a glass of water next to his head and a huge stack of pillows and folded blankets under his knees. And oh that's some relief right there. He sighs and takes the arm off his face.

"Thanks."

"Take these and try to sleep again."

 She hands him painkillers and the glass of water and then proceeds to help him _sit up_ to take them. Jeez what is going on? He lays back down as she closes the shade and shuts the light off. It’s a nice gesture but it’s been proven he can sleep anywhere, anytime. Given his comfortable position, dulling pain, and the dark room he's asleep in minutes.

\---

Stiles keeps a clean house. After Lydia gets him to fall asleep again she returns to the first floor to waste time. After the disaster of his room she'd thought maybe she could use the time he's unconscious to clean. But the rest of the house is nearly spotless. Everything is organized, clean, and dusted. There's food in the fridge; healthy food for his father. Lydia has already made and eaten a salad so she's standing at the counter and thinks she's deduced where he's got the Oreos hidden. It still takes her 15 minutes to find the right hiding spot but she's rewarded with potato chips, Oreos, and pop tarts. She grabs the Oreos and goes up to check on Stiles. The door creaks open when she makes it to the top of the stairs. She pushes her way in to the dimly lit room. In the 45 minutes she's managed to waste he's kicked the pillow stack out from under his knees and is sprawled on his stomach. Not the best position for an aching back but if he's comfortable. She's about to shrug and walk away when she hears him whimper. Shit. She leaves the Oreos on his desk and strides over to wake him up.

"Stiles wake up."

She tries to be gentle when she shakes his shoulder but his eyes pop open and he's groaning in pain again.

"Bad?"

Bad," he pants.

"I'm calling Scott but I'll come back and see if a massage will help."

 He just nods and fuck if he's not even going to attempt to joke about a happy ending massage she's in real trouble here.

\---

Lydia is off to call Scott and Stiles is trying to control his breathing. But the deeper the breaths he tries to take just make the pain in his ribs flare to life even more. He's got his arms crossed and his head resting on them while he waits for Lydia to come back. It’s a testament to both how much his feelings towards her lean towards sister now and how much pain he's in that having Lydia Martin straddling his thighs is doing nothing to him. 10 minutes later and he should be reduced a pile of goo. Should being the key word there.

"Objectively I know that you are really good at that and I'm sure this is how you calmed the raging Jackson into an actual human being, but damn-"

He's been trying to ignore the fact that the pain has been growing instead of diminishing under her ministrations. Instead of radiating through his body though it’s like its concentrating all in one spot; just below his shoulder blades right along his spine. She keeps massaging but starts rubbing right on that spot because, oh, he'd been saying all that out loud.

It takes 2 minutes of that and he's got his eyes open but his vision is blurring there's so much fucking pain and he just wants to pass out or die because that's the only way it’s going to stop. He's writhing on his bed before he knows what he's doing and he somehow is aware of the fact that he just bucked Lydia off him and his bed completely, dumping her on the floor.

He knows he's in trouble because the pain intensifies until he's got his eyes screwed shut, his fists in the sheets, his knees pulled underneath him to his chest trying to stretch the muscle that's so tight he feels like he would snap apart if it were touched. Mercifully Lydia seems to realize this and doesn't do anything but he can somewhat hear her talking and he hopes it’s with Scott.

He feels the weirdest sort of pressure right on top of the pain and then just when he's feels like he's going to pass out he hears a pop and the pain is gone but its replaced by something that isn't all that much better.

He's got no clue what just happened but it feels like he just got an extra pair of arms. Well, no, that's not right either, because they don't move like arms and they feel small, short, underdeveloped. But even as huge as growing another set of limbs is, he suddenly feels like someone turned his senses dial up to 11 and he wonders if this is what Scott feels like sometimes when he gets his wolfy senses overwhelmed.

He can hear Lydia's frantic heartbeat and the rumble of Scott's bike as he turns a corner at the end of his street. He can smell his sweat and Lydia's sweat that shows how freaked out and nervous she really is. But he can feel her presence in the room like never before and he can smell the chili in the fridge he was going to have for supper and god he wants to cry because he can smell his mom's perfume wafting in from his parents’ bedroom. He doesn't bother opening his eyes to see if that sense is heightened right now because he knows the room was dim but even with his eyes screwed shut it hurts. He moves to bury his face in his pillow but it feels rough and scratchy and his oh so comfortable bed feels like he's lying on the floor.

He really hopes Lydia doesn't touch him because he thinks he'd probably cry at the contact. He feels like he's going to break at the slightest sound or touch.

He tries to reign in both his panic and his senses. He hears Derek's stupid voice in his head telling him to try and anchor himself to something.

He thinks about his mom; how she was a steady force for him and his dad while at the same time being the light, carefree soul that didn't let the sheriff's job weigh them all down. He thinks about her laugh and her talent at whatever she put her hands to. He thinks about her hands pushing his hair from his face to kiss his forehead or running her fingers along the bottom of his feet where he was most ticklish.

But it doesn't help and he hears Scott close the front door and it sounds like a bomb going off and his footfalls on the stairs are like a firework went off right by his head.

He tries to think of his dad. How he'd fought against believing what Stiles was trying to show him but adjusted nonetheless. How they'd been there for each other and as much as Stiles helped his dad slow down on the drinking his dad helped him get through his panic attacks. How he still trusted Stiles after everything. And if he came home wounded, his dad would just clean him up and wait to ask questions until he was ready. How he felt safe with his dad and his love; like no one could touch him. And if they were working together on a case they'd be unstoppable.

But then Scott touches his shoulder and its partially grounding but at the same time feels like sandpaper across his skin. He's probably crying now but it’s overwhelming dammit and he can't find an anchor that seems to make a difference.

He thinks of Scott, the bestest best friend a guy could ask for. Loyal and good in a way Stiles can't manage on his best day. Dopey smiles, honest intentions, helpful if somewhat dense at times.

He even tries Derek but thinking of the fragile trust that had arisen between before he left and the man's tentative smiles and genuine growth just makes his heart ache and that was the one place that hadn't been hurting.

He's begging for something to change, something has to happen, it's got to get better or he's going to pass out. Scott flips the light by the bed on and Stiles is done, rocky pillow be damned he's unconscious and out of pain for a minute at least.

\---

He wakes up and he just knows: they're wings. He has wings. 

He pushes himself up off the bed and makes his way to his mirror. Shit, if he wasn't terrified this would be awesome. They're like 3 feet long if they're an inch and they're not some angelic pure white. They are this deep dark greyish black at the top that lightens out to heather grey at the bottom. He feels fine now though which is great. The oversensitive senses are less chaotic now; he can kind of control when he uses them. Like he can hear Scott and Lydia coming up to stairs but ignores their heartbeats and the clock in the downstairs bathroom. Just as they reach the landing he starts to feel kind of funny. Something as ordinary as lightheaded. Then it's more than that. Like all the energy his body has to use is being pushed towards his back- his wings. He's about to swoon for the second time that day but Scott catches him before he face plants and he stays conscious. 

He smiles up at Scott. 

"Hey guys. So, uh, I maybe figured out the back pain thing."

Scott managed to give him a look that simultaneously says 'you're an idiot' and 'why do I like being your friend?'

Lydia just gets right to the important stuff. 

"Yes, Stiles. You have wings; more important at this point is they're still growing."

Stiles cranes his neck to look back again and sure enough they're almost a foot and a half longer. 

"How big are they going to get?"

Nobody seems to have an answer to that. 

"Right. Well. Apparently growing wings will take it out of a person because I'm starving. Like please would one of you go kill me a pig or a chicken or a cow or you know what? All of the above. Because I'm _starving_."

Scott rights him and he starts trying to make his way downstairs. He finds that he has to go sideways to get through the door and down the stairs without knocking any pictures off the wall. Even still Scott had to catch the picture of Stiles first fish before it crashes on the floor. But he makes it to the kitchen without lasting damage to anything. Lydia and Scott just watch him start pulling things from the fridge.

He feels like Peter Parker in the new Spider-Man movie when he comes home and takes EVERYTHING out of the fridge. _Huh, maybe if he got glasses he’d even probably look like Andrew Garfield._

Stiles pulls out sandwich meat, leftover lasagna, eggs, milk, cheese, and even stuff for a salad. 20 minutes later he's already had a turkey sandwich, a salad and the lasagna.  He ate that in between making macaroni and cheese and a ham and cheese omelet. By the time he got to his third glass of milk and a round of eggs and toast he's actually full. Then he just wants to sleep. He makes it as far as the couch, feels a pulse of energy go into the wings and falls asleep again.  

\---

He wakes up again and it’s dark outside. Scott’s sitting in a chair watching Friends reruns and watching over Stiles.

He groans, “How big are they now?”

Scott actually looks mildly alarmed.

“Big. Like they’re as tall as you now.”

“Great.”

He buries his face in the pillow for a minute; when he looks back at Scott his friend has his head tilted just so and Stiles knows he heard something.

“What is it?

Scott faces him unsure.

“Your dad.”

“Shit.”

 Shit shit shit. How was he going to explain this? Sure his dad knew about werewolves but this? This was just crazy and stupid; he had _wings_ for fuck’s sake. He jumps upoff the couch when his dad comes in the front door. He’s nearly thrown off balance because of the wings. They _are_ big. It’s at this point he realizes he should be able to control them and can’t and his panic isn’t helping the problem. The wings are twitching of their own accord by now.

 “Dad!”

“Stiles?”

“So don’t freak out-“

“Oh I’m not freaking out, my son just has _wings_!”

 His dad yelling is so not helping his panic. His left wing spasms and knocks over a lamp. He turns to pick it up forgetting and rams the other wing right into the couch. God that hurt. He cries out more in surprise than anything else, though. But then Scott’s jumping up in concern.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

He tries to get to his dad to prove that really he’s ok but he snags a wing on the coffee table and curses in pain this time. He’s halfway to a panic attack and the wings keep jerking and hitting things and knocking things over. Scott thinks he’s trying to help but the wings are still hypersensitive and Scott has werewolf strength and claws. He’s using them too and everything _hurts_ again. Scott is lying on top of Stiles; has him pinned face down and the wings held tight in his arms. He just buries his face in his hands and tries to stave of panicking because his dad is freaking out and he’s still all over the place with this whole mess. Dammit he’s going to cry again isn’t he. Scott loosens the pressure on the wings and he can hear his dad walk over slowly and sit next to his head.

He loses it when his dad apologizes for yelling and starts carding his fingers through Stiles hair. He just hears his dad say it’s ok until he quiets but neither he nor Scott expect him to join the conversation they start. He pulls himself together while they talk about where he could go. The wings are just too big for their little house. They agree he’ll end up hurting himself or breaking everything or both if he tries to stay there. And Scott’s house wouldn’t be any better.

Stiles knows logically the open space of Derek’s loft would be perfect. He just doesn’t want to spend time in that space where Derek should be and isn’t. He doesn’t want that feeling in his chest when he questions why Derek left and why he didn’t say goodbye or anything about when he’d be back. Stiles is still coming to grips with the fact that whatever friendship he and Derek had started to build meant so little that he couldn’t be bothered to talk to him before he bugged out. Naturally, the suggestion of the loft is met with instant approval from both his dad and Scott. No neighbors to see the wings, he’s not bothering anybody, the space is open and he won’t hurt himself as easily, and it’s easy to defend if something went wrong. He doesn’t fight their decision.

 

He lifts his head and has to sniffle before he says, “Fine, but I’m packing a bag or three to go with me.”

\---

Stiles has wings. His son has wings.

He knew that the supernatural world was new to him but he also knew that it was still pretty new to his boys. It had only been a couple years and there was still a lot to learn. But honestly, the story Scott tells him while Stiles is packing sounds like a B-Horror movie.

Drunk witches.

Seriously?

Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised anymore by his kid’s adventures. He feels pretty bad for yelling at this point. He didn’t know the rollercoaster day his son had had already and just reacted. It’s doesn’t take him too long and Stiles is yelling for Scott to help him down the stairs. They come down and Scott has Stiles backpack and duffel bag in one hand and he’s holding the wings back with the other. Stiles has his arms around his pillow and his comforter that’s haphazardly folded up. He can’t quite read the look Stiles is wearing. It’s one that just looks resigned with the situation. Both the bags Scott has are bulging they’re stuffed so full. He imagines Stiles laptop is in there with an untold amount of books. He imagines if he ends up being stuck in the loft for a while he’s going to fly through the books he’s got. The sheriff can remember one summer where his son spent every rainy day holed up in the house with a book. June had been an especially rainy month and Stiles had finished his entire summer reading list in a week. He knows the hardest part of his packing would have been deciding which movies to bring with and whether he’d try and bring his Xbox. One positive is it’s the middle of the night and to get him to Derek’s they won’t have to struggle to keep the wings hidden. They have to wrangle Stiles into his jeep though. It’s a tight fit and Scott can’t hold the wings together from the front seat. The sheriff guesses that even though they are attached to his son he doesn’t have complete control over them yet. If Scott were a bit brighter there would be teasing to make up for what Stiles undoubtedly dished out when Scott became a werewolf. But Scott is either too kind or too forgetful to even attempt to tease his best friend after what has been a pretty confusing day. They get over to Hale’s loft and Stiles has to get out via the hatch on the back of the jeep.

Woo boy, does he look miserable.

With the oversized industrial building it’s already evident this is the best option. Scott doesn’t even have to hold the wings to get them all in the elevator. John has Stiles backpack now and it’s just as heavy and full as he thought it was going to be. They get up to the loft and Scott finds the spare key. He hands it over to Stiles when they get into the loft.   Stiles looks defeated. John offers to stay there with him but he waves him off like he knows he’s got the early morning shift; he needs to get a decent night’s sleep. Scott goes to offer the same thing but Stiles turns him down before he can get the words out. Scott can’t argue the fact that he needs to get home and deal with his own father though. He wraps Stiles in a long hug before he leaves with Scott.

Despite how cool they look and he’s mature enough to admit that, he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with wings.

 _Wings_.

\---

After his dad and Scott leaves he dumps his pillow on the bed and dives in face first. He’s so ready for this day to be over. Maybe the stupid things will be gone when he wakes up and this was all a weird dream. He sighs knowing already, it’s not. He’s asleep soon after that.

He blinks himself back into consciousness having slept relatively soundly. It’s kind of surprising actually. He goes to push himself off the bed and groans. Ignoring how gentle Scott had tried to be tackling him in the living room last night the wings are _sore_. It’s like when you first start working out again and the unused muscles finally get some action. His whole body hurts too like he’d just been through a conditioning practice with Finstock. He turns and sits on the bed letting the wings hang over the edge rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Theres a message on his phone from Scott saying he’ll bring Stiles whatever he needs. He sits there and stares at the phone for a while before he’s fully awake. Then he looks around.

The place is practically trashed. There’s still broken glass everywhere and dust and dirt and junk. And Derek’s stuff is all piles of random things haphazardly placed throughout the loft. He shrugs and walks off to find the kitchen. It’s not necessarily worse than the main room but…it’s worse. Empty boxes, half full milk carton, dirt, mold, crumbs fucking everywhere, empty fridge and practically bare cupboards greet him. He sighs and walks back out. Stiles goes back to his phone and texts Scott to bring him breakfast. He goes to drop back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling before he remembers.

Fucking wings.

Scott brings him breakfast food at noon and attempts to stay for a while. But with little to talk about since they have no clue about the wings he leaves again soon after with a promise to talk to Deaton. Stiles eats in the silence and ignores the mess he’s looking at. After he finishes the breakfast burritos he has the urge to lay down and nap. This time he tries sleeping curled up on his side. It’s- well it’s not as bad as laying directly on the wings but still it’s not particularly comfortable. He flops over on to his stomach and falls back asleep.

Sometime later in the day he’s being shaken awake by someone. He pops an eye open and finds an only vaguely annoyed Lydia.

“Get up. You need to shower.”

He grumbles but gets up anyway; he does need a shower. More importantly he _wants_ one right now though. He realizes he has no idea how to get his shirt off. He must make a face at it because Lydia strides over and rips it off him. He stares at her while she stares at his chest.

“Huh, who knew?”

He looks down and while he’s not as defined as the wolves he’s got the whole lean muscle thing going on. Still he’s confused but just shrugs and makes his way towards the bathroom.

The bathroom with a stall shower.  
A stall shower that is in no way big enough for the wings.

He sighs, drops his pants and briefs and starts shoving the stupid wings in the stall first as he backs into the shower. It hurts because they’re still sore and they are apparently sensitive to touch too because it’s like he can feel where they are pressed up against the shower wall ten times over. It’s really not all that pleasant. But then he turns on the water.

Ok Derek may have the smallest shower possible but damn if he doesn’t have great water pressure. Must be rough getting all the dirt and blood out of that ridiculous thick black hair. And his beard. _I wonder what beard burn feels like? Does it actually burn? Maybe I’ll-_ He stops that train of thought before it gets any further out of the station. It’s all going well and good, it’s not like showers are all that difficult but when the water, which is pleasantly warm to his skin falls on his wings it’s like being burned. He flinches and tries to turn it down to a cooler temperature but that’s worse because now it feels like he’s being stabbed with a whole bunch of needles and he doesn’t need this right now. He rinses all the suds off and scrubs a hand through his hair to get all the shampoo out and shuts the water off as quickly as possible. He gets out and his wings reflexively flex and spray water fucking everywhere. He sees a towel and his bag with all his clothes by the door. Right. Probably should have grabbed those before getting in the shower. He bulls on clean boxer briefs and some sweats before he realizes he can’t really put on a shirt. He walks out scrubbing a towel across his hair.

“Lydia what am I going to do about a shirt? I’m not walking around like this forever.”

He walks back into the main room as she tuts at him.

“Lucky for you I have mad toga skills.”

And, what? But he just stands as instructed as Lydia wraps soft grey cloth around his torso, on his arms a little making sleeves and over his shoulders. Somehow she gets it snug around the base of the wings so he feels pleasantly protected when she tucks an end in at his shoulder and stands back to survey her work. She appraises him and gives a nod with a small smile. She fills him in on the zero progress they’ve made on what to do and he’s not all that surprised. She leaves after a little while and he attempts to sit on the couch. He manages it by sitting with his back to the armrest and the wings falling on the opposite side. He relaxes back into the armrest and opens a book he’s got to read for English next fall.

He wakes up to a pitch black loft and thanks whoever’s listening that he didn’t fall over the armrest back onto the wings while he slept because what do you know, they’re still stupidly sensitive. Although if he was more cognizant he’d realize that they really weren’t that sore anymore. As it is he shuffles over to the bed and collapses again to sleep for a few more hours.

\---

He wakes up just before dawn. It’s that almost sunlight that makes the whole loft looked bathed in soft grey light. It actually looks mildly peaceful for a room that’s held so much violence. He’s ignoring two things today: the mess and these weird things he has about being in Derek’s space and Derek being gone. He thinks they’re called feelings? He’s unsure though because, mostly, they’re being ignored. Can’t have a problem if he doesn’t admit it right? Right.

Instead he focuses on his new appendages. They feel _right_ now. Like, they’re not sore, they don’t hurt when he accidentally brushes them against furniture or walls. They feel natural; like they’ve been a part of him for more than just the last day and a half. He spends the morning discovering not only do they not hurt but they listen to his direction. It’s not as simple as moving his arms; it takes more concentration. He feels like when he was learning lacrosse the first time; trying to adjust to using the stick to catch and throw. It's like re-training his brain. Luckily, when he goes into an almost compulsive state of working on something for the day, it’s working on that control. He spends all morning focusing on how his brain works with the wings.

Scott walks in with his hands full of lunch at 2 in the afternoon. He is not expecting he best friend to come floating gracefully down from the rafters to perch on his shoulders as he does so. He fumbles the containers slightly but saves the food.

“Stiles what the hell-“ Scott’s irritation gives way to wonder because, “-Dude. You can fly!”

Stiles giggles while he hovers in the rafters again.

“I know! How insane is that?”

He lands pretty gracefully if he does say so himself. Although it had taken ~~a little~~ a lot of trial and error before he got the hang of any of it let alone the landing.

“What’s for lunch?” Stiles asks hopping slightly in excitement like a 5 year old.

Scott just gives him a look; the one that says ‘you’re insane.’

“Yeah, no. You don’t get food until you tell me how you can fly dumbass!"

“Scott. I have wings that are obviously huge. Of course I can fly. Now give me that food!”

Like the children they are Scott ducks over the food protectively but somehow Stiles darts under his hold and gets his container anyway. Before Scott can properly react Stiles is in the air again; he bounces slightly with the force of his wings keeping him airborne. Scott looks at him curiously before he opens his container to see his own meal.

“How did you know that one was yours?”

Stiles shrugged, or he tried to, “You started eating your fries already and got ketchup on the lid of yours.”

Scott turned the container and saw one small smudge of ketchup on the Styrofoam container.

“Dude, how did you notice that?”

Stiles landed again and made his way to the kitchen, Scott following.

“I don’t know dude. It’s like, you got these better senses when you got bit right?”

Scott sits at the table while Stiles stays standing across from him.

“It’s like that I think but like, I can see _really well_ , even in the dark, and I can place sounds better, like I knew you used the stairs instead of the elevator. And these things,” he gestures to the wings, “they’re not as crazy sensitive as they were at first but I was just straightening the feathers a little and it was like they were hyper sensitive to touch.”

“Dude.”

Stiles nods somehow translating that it’s really just too weird to talk about.

“What about smell?”

Stiles cocks his head to the side in question.

“I don’t think that changed much. Like its nothing more than it usually is. It was different at first but I think everything was out of whack in my system at first.”

Scott just digs into his food, completely at ease that his best friend not only sprouted wings but inherited some supernatural senses as well. Well, Stiles supposes it’s not all that hard to adjust to.

They eat their meal and Scott leaves again. Stiles tries to read a book but he decides to explore the loft instead. He finds messes everywhere he looks. The main room is in shambles, the bed is crooked and messy, the bathroom has towels and clothes strewn everywhere, turns out there’s rooms up the spiral staircase and one of them has the remnants of Derek’s closet thrown about. There’s also a washer and dryer in another room. And the third has a bed and what looks like one of Isaac’s stupid scarves on a messy bed. Luckily he finds a closet that’s stocked full of cleaning supplies. He pulls it all out to see what more he needs if he’s going to take care of this place.

Somewhere between being mad that Derek left, getting wings, missing that stupid face, and being forced into staying in the empty loft Stiles had decided he’d have to clean the place if he was going to stay here. He didn’t know how long he was going to have wings and he wasn’t going to live in Derek’s mess. He surveyed the cleaning supplies and compared it to the mess. Then he grabbed his notebook and made a list of what Scott could bring from Stiles’ house and what he needed to pick up from the store. He pretty much had everything he needed but he’d have Scott get the stuff anyway. Things like groceries, laundry detergent, bleach, oven cleaner and rubber gloves. He wrote up the list and when Scott came over again after his shift was over at Deaton’s Stiles gave it to him and explained it all to him. After Scott went home Stiles had a sense of accomplishment for the day.

Learn to fly? Gear up to clean the apartment?

Done and done.

The bed was still too stiff to lay on his wings, even though they didn’t hurt as bad now. He spent the evening googling different types of hammocks. It didn’t take long and he’d found the one he thought would be best and ordered it with overnight shipping. Which incidentally cost more than the hammock itself but getting to sleep without killing his neck was fast becoming a priority. He spent some time looking at some facts about wings and feathers and birds. One disturbing Tumblr post later at 1 am and he slammed his laptop shut and flopped down to fall asleep.

Day three with wings is about twice as productive but about half as fun as learning to fly.

Stiles struggles for like twenty minutes with where he’s going to start first. He decides to ‘tidy’ while he waits for Scott to bring him the stuff he needs. He starts with what he guesses was Isaac’s room. Picks up the random clothes, strips the bed, folds the duvet, clears the closet up and starts a new list in his notebook with ‘fix hole in wall from door handle via Isaac.’ Derek’s room is much the same with more bloodstained clothes. He’s got a pretty tried and true method of removing blood stains that should work on these. After he’s done picking up and sorting through Derek’s room he does the same in the bathroom and dumps all the dirty laundry by the washing machine. And then Scott’s there with his cleaning stuff and food. He puts everything in the fridge and one of the empty cupboards. Scott gives him a curious look he just waves off before returning to the task at hand. He throws the sheets from the beds into the wash and starts it and starts his treatment on the bloodstains.

After the laundry gets going he returns to the kitchen. It’s actually the grossest part of the place, bathroom included. Moldy food in the fridge, crumbs in the cupboards, dirt and Stiles supposes blood on the floor and counters. Like, it’s so unsanitary Stiles is grossed out. Which says a lot about the situation. He doesn’t stop for lunch until the kitchen is done though. It takes most of the morning before it’s completely done and he has a new load of laundry running. He’s reluctant to make more dishes by cooking lunch and settles for a sandwich instead. After lunch he heads for the main room and gets rid of the debris everywhere and straightens the room in general. Tossing whatever papers he found in the kitchen and bedroom and main room onto the desk. He’s nosy and invasive and he’s actually cleaning Derek’s apartment but he isn’t going to dig into the man’s business any further. Probably. Maybe.

 _Yet_.

He has a moment of panic when the delivery man comes with his hammock. Luckily he wasn’t doing anything particularly noisy so he pretends not to be there when the guy knocks on the door. It’s not like he can _answer the door_ right now. He has wings for goodness sake. Someone must be looking out for him though because when he opens the door after listening to the man’s steps fade into the elevator, there sits the box with his hammock. He drags it inside and over between the pillars he thinks will work best before he goes back to cleaning.

It’s late into the evening when Scott and Isaac show up with pizzas and bad news and find him. Isaac’s jaw drops and Scott’s nose does that thing where it doesn’t know whether to scrunch up in confusion or not. Stiles looks down at himself and realizes he’s _filthy_. Well, he did get past the tidy and sweep part of Operation Clean Up Derek’s Life. Official title is still in the works but he managed to get to the part where he was scrubbing and washing floors and doors and the shower and dusting _everything_.

“You guys take out the garbage for me and I’ll shower.”

He points to the pile of black garbage bags that aren’t all that heavy but are awkward even with werewolf strength. Scott walks to put the pizzas in the kitchen and Stiles hears him exclaim, “Holy shit!” when he walks towards the shower. This time the shower feels _great_ on the wings and the rest of him. They’re still sensitive to a degree but he can keep the water nice and warm to scrub away all the dirt and grime and sweat from his tired body. He keeps it short and by the time he gets out with a towel slung over his shoulder he realizes his toga shirt thing is pretty gross just like he was. He puts that and his pants and the last of the dirty bloodstain clothes in the wash and heads back to the kitchen. Scott and Isaac are already working through their pizzas, of course. He doesn’t notice that the wings are dripping until Scott says something.

“Dude, you’re making a puddle.”

“What?” he looks down and sure enough there's a puddle of water at his feet from the wings.

“Want help with that?” Scott offers.

And really Stiles has no issue with Scott in his personal space but he’s wary for some reason. He nods anyway since they’re done eating anyway. Isaac goes off and grabs another towel for the floor. And Scott goes behind Stiles to start in on the wings. Stiles can feel him pause and then hears him shrug before he comes forward to start. Problem is Scott is used to dogs and cats at the vet clinic and Stiles is pretty sure that’s the approach he’s taking because he’s scrubbing the towel across and against the grain of the feathers and that hurts goddammit. He flinches and smacks Scott with the wing he’d been working on.

“ _Dude_. I’m not a dog. Go _with_ the feathers and wipe them off.”

“Sorry.” Scott mumbles.

Isaac comes back and mops up the puddle; leaving the soaking towel underneath the wings as he takes the other dry one and starts wiping it down.

“What did you do the first time you showered?”

“Uh, they kind of jerked and splashed water all over the bathroom?”

It doesn’t take long though for Stiles to have a problem.

“Uh, guys? Are you almost done?”

“Why?”

“Well- you know how a massage can be halfway between ‘oh god that feels good’ and ‘oh god that’s arousing’? That’s how this feels but it’s leaning more towards the second.”

Isaac’s hands fly off immediately but Scott keeps wiping until he’s reached the tip of the wing and then finishes where Isaac left off. Basically because he’s the bestest best friend ever who knows Stiles isn’t attracted to him. He clears his throat, well, tries to.

“Thanks buddy.” It still comes out hoarsely and Scott and Isaac leave after that anyway. (Stiles makes them take the empty pizza boxes with them.)

He goes to the laundry room and switches the loads of washing so he can have his toga shirt thing back. Once that’s done he texts Lydia about how to re-do his shirt and ambles over to the box with the hammock. It takes him a ridiculous amount of time to get the thing set up. By the time it’s done though he’s ready to crawl in and sleep and Lydia said she’d come in the morning to teach him. He’s so excited for this and he didn’t even realize how dead tired he is from all the stupid cleaning. He crawls into the soft fabric and lets it and his wings wrap around him. It’s even better than he expected. It’s like sleeping in a hug; the wings warm around him and the soft support of the fabric.  He peers out briefly to stare at the desk. It’s the only thing left to clean up. He’s asleep before he decides if he actually will or not.

\---

It takes him all of an hour of trying to read his summer reading list assignments the next morning before he caves and walks over to the desk. It’s not like he hasn’t invaded Derek’s life already but this is just a new level. He shrugs it off and starts to organize. He puts the papers in piles based on bills, bank statements, junk mail, and personal mail. He looks in the drawers and finds a key; it looks like a mail box key. He ventures out of the loft for the first time and goes down to see if there’s a mail box. Sure enough theres a few rows down there that are mostly broken open. He tries the one secure looking box and finds that the key works. After he opens the little door letters and junk pour out. He notices the mailman started shoving the newest things in the open box beside the good one. He gathers all the envelopes and goes back upstairs. It takes a while but a picture forms in his inquisitive mind. Working cases with his dad taught him to see patterns better than the average person. The mess he finds in the paperwork is almost worse than how the loft looked.

Stiles never really considered Derek’s financial activities. Like, he had the Camaro, yes, and he had this loft. No matter how many shirts got clawed to pieces he always had fresh, clean basic t-shirts and those long sleeve henleys. So Stiles had always assumed the dude had money somewhere to pay for it all. He starts with the envelopes marked PAST DUE and goes from there quickly putting together a theory. The dude has a few thousand dollars in credit card debt. Whether it just came down to he didn’t pay his bills or he forgot or didn’t have the money Stiles doesn’t know. So he moves on to the bank statements and that’s where things get confusing. Because there’s a few _million_ dollars in the bank. It doesn’t register until Stiles thinks about the fact that Derek’s parents probably had life insurance policies. It’s enough to have Stiles own chest clenching in understanding. But then why would he have debt. He does some digging and finds that Derek never touched the policy payouts. He lived off of and used the interest but Stiles guesses he probably couldn’t bring himself to use the money. Stiles- Stiles gets that. Whatever kind of account he had the money in its interest rate must have tanked because the returns just dropped and Derek probably didn’t have any way to get more money while he was running around Beacon Hills trying to protect everyone.

Because as much as Scott wants to blame Derek for everything and all, Stiles came to realize how shitty that attitude is. Because really the poor guy was just living a normal life, had a pretty tragic teenage romance before being seduced and losing ninety percent of his family which led to him trying to avenge his sisters murder and ultimately get roped into the ragtag band of teenagers and then he bit some more to make the group that much bigger. Then to lose pack members again and have to deal with seductive, dark druids and alpha packs and Scott turning on him at every move? Yeah, Stiles decided a long time ago that if ever there was a way that his skinny human butt could help Derek Hale lead a less painful existence, he would do it.

He pilfers through the papers some more and finds some stuff from the county records department. From what he can see Derek was trying to get the Hale land back. There’s communication with a banker to use a portion of the account to pay for it; he’d been approved to use the money. He finds the latest letter from the county and shit Derek needed to have called by _today_ for things to move forward. He thinks about calling Derek but decides to text him instead. Just saying he needs help. It’s two fold because if Derek could come back and help deal with these stupid wings that would be awesome. He sits there staring at the mess as long as it takes for him to remember that he knows a lady in that office. One part of being the son of the Sheriff is Stiles knows people at all levels of the judicial and county systems.

He grabs his phone, googles the number and prepares to bullshit his way through this conversation.

“Beacon County Commissioners Office, this is Sharon.”

“Sharon! Just the lovely lady I was looking to talk to.”

He can hear her sigh, “Stiles is that you?”

“Yes ma’am, it is.”

“What do you need, dear?”

“Well, I’m trying to help a friend.”

“Is this going to be anything like the last time you tried to help a friend and your dad needed a permit to build a new garden shed?”

Stiles winced, “No, ma’am. I have a friend who had to go across the country for business and asked me to take care of some business for him. He left some time ago but only just called so I’m just reading this notice today. It says if action isn’t made by today’s date they will abandon the request.”

“What’s the case number, dear?”

“90650887841902450.”

He waits while she pulls up the file.

“Derek Hale? Your friend is Derek Hale?”

“Yes?” he replies hesitantly.

She sighs again.

“Stiles I hope you don’t cause him trouble, poor boy has had enough of that in his life already.”

“I am in one hundred percent agreement with you on that Sharon, that’s why I want to make sure this gets taken care of. If he’s in Beacon Hills he should have the right to his family’s land again. I have documents here from the bank that grant him permission to use some of the funds from his accounts and I have a letter here from city hall granting zoning permissions and his plans to rebuild were approved. It’d be a shame if all that couldn’t get worked out just because he had pressing business to tend to.”

“Oh yes. I will make sure this request stays open for a little while longer and if you can get me copies or scans of those documents we could maybe move this process along.”

“He’d have something nice to come back to; I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“You’ve certainly grown up young man; your father has done a good job raising you.”

Stiles wings flutter behind him as a reminder that he hasn’t grown up completely. At least it wasn’t directly his fault; he can’t help but want to laugh at her thinking he’s matured when he walked into the woods four days ago and antagonized witches who then proceeded to give him wings.

“I’ll get these documents to you and you just let me know what else there is I can do.”

“Sounds good, dear. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye Sharon.”

He ends the call and lets out a huge gush of air. _That couldn’t have gone any easier._ Sometimes his ability to manipulate the system troubles him. For a minute.

He doesn’t have time to dwell because as soon as he finishes organizing the paperwork Lydia walks in.

“Morning Stiles.”

Before he can even greet her, his stomach rumbles. She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Little hungry there Stilinski?”

He looks down at the time on his phone and sure enough it’s nearly 11:30 and he never even ate breakfast.

“I guess I got caught up.”

“In cleaning? This place looks great now.”

“Thanks. I realized when I showered off about 7 layers of dirt off yesterday that I only had one option for a shirt and I had no idea how you’d done it the first time.”

She laughs and pulls out another two pieces of similar soft fabric; one deep red and the other navy. She lets him eat a couple pieces of toast before teaching him how to wrap his torso. It takes a couple tries but he catches on pretty quickly. She doesn’t stay long just tells him that she’s going to Deaton’s and might come back later. He makes himself a proper lunch when she leaves and meanders around doing nothing. He goes back to the desk to look at the debt papers. He has another moment of realization and grabs his phone again.

He may have spent more time at the Jungle with Danny than Scott’s aware of and he met Michelle. Michelle’s day job is a financial advisor. Well, his name is Mike at the firm but regardless, he gave Stiles his office number to use for legit purposes. This would be a time where he actually needs financial advising. That phone call goes almost better than the commissioner’s office. Mike says he can get some of the interest removed from credit card bills. And Stiles gives him a month or so to earn enough off the little interest the life insurance accumulated to pay off the debt. It’s this whole arrangement that Mike drafted and then sent to Stiles to check over. He’s about to call his dad to look it over when his dad walks in.

“Hey dad, I was just going to call you. What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t Deaton call you?”

“No, I’ve been on the phone for a while though.”

“They figured something out I guess and said that everybody would meet here to discuss the options.”

He has his dad look over his plans before the rest of the pack gets there. And if after, the sheriff looks at Stiles with eyes filled with pride and hugs him a little tight well, neither of them mention anything. He says the plan looks good and is going to help get the right paperwork done to get things moving. Scott walks in with a stack of pizzas twenty minutes after his dad showed up. Isaac comes in shortly after Scott followed by Lydia and Deaton. As usual he’s vague and unhelpful.

“So let me see if I got this right,” his dad starts after Deaton quote unquote explains, “my son was cursed  by drunk witches who weren’t following the rules of cursing people and now because of it people concerned with the supernatural are curious and might stop by to help and or just observe.”

“Pretty much yes.”

“Right.” He turns to Stiles then, “You will not let anyone in this loft while you’re alone. You call Scott or Isaac or me or Argent if you have to but you do not let anyone in if you’re by yourself.”

Stiles agrees; he’s not stupid. He’s not going to let strangers in that’s like rule number one you learn as a kid staying home alone. The group disbands leaving Stiles alone again. He makes them take their pizza boxes out with them again.

The next few days go by and Stiles gets a routine going. Make breakfast then read. Check emails from Mike and the county. Make lunch. Get the mail. Watch movies all afternoon. Have leftovers for supper. Read some more. Go to sleep.

It takes a week before he gets an email from Mike and he’s earned enough money to cover the credit card debt. Then the day after that sees Stiles first visitors. Actually scares the hell out of him when someone bangs on the door but he’s got mountain ash along the door way so even if they got past the steel door they wouldn’t get in. He calls Scott immediately and spends the next twenty minutes hovering in the rafters until Scott gets there. It gives a whole new very literal meaning to the phrase fight or flight. The meeting goes well enough, a witch from the next town over had heard and wanted to offer any help. But since neither Scott nor Isaac remembers what the trio chanted that day she couldn’t do anything.

A couple more weeks pass with visits. Most are harmless enough just want to see the human kid who was unfortunate enough to get cursed with wings. All in all it’s not a bad existence. He gets more money from Mike and uses it for stuff in the loft. Blankets, a stereo and speaker system, a clock, random stuff that makes it easier to live there but hopefully won’t bother Derek when he gets back. He spends time reading and watching movies until he’s so bored of Netflix he stares at a wall for six hours. Scott brings him a foster dog, Buster, for a couple of days but Stiles doesn’t like keeping him cooped up in an apartment and it’s not like he can take him outside. After Buster goes back Scott brings a cat who is surprisingly good company. Derek’s probably going to flip when he gets back and his place smells like cat and Stiles but Stiles doesn’t really care at the moment because he needs the companionship. Scott doesn’t have time to stop by hardly at all. Lydia is busy with getting ready for college and Isaac and Stiles don’t get along well enough to just chill together for days on end. 

After a month and a half of having the wings the visitors trail off. There’d been one guy who came by who was a little- off. Both Scott and his dad had been there for that visit and they both came to the same conclusion. Stiles doesn’t think anything of it until he’s in the loft alone for the night like usual but he forgot to put the mountain ash down. He’s about to crawl out of the hammock to do so when the door slams open and in walks the guy –Alvarez was his name. He panics, obviously, but before he can take flight or call anyone Alvarez is on top of him, smashing his head into the floor and everything goes black.

\---

Over a hundred miles away from Beacon Hills Derek is sitting in a bar. He’s been in this town for the last week or so. He’d left Beacon Hills at the beginning of the summer; he just needed to get out of the city and away from everybody for a while. He’s been slowly making his way back home though. He knew from the start he’d end up back in his hometown. That didn’t mean that the time away didn’t help any because it has. He’s realized some things and at this point he’s avoiding going back because he’s not ready to face the mess he left. He knows he left badly. He’d forgotten to pay his credit bills even though he somehow managed to remember to pay rent in advance. He left his loft a mess after Jennifer smashed the skylight. There’s probably still glass everywhere not to mention he wasn’t exactly keeping the cleanest apartment with people out for his life and his pack. He’d let some non-life and death concerns go without attention for a while. The worst was the county was considering giving him his family’s property back since he was now a contributing member of society again. Who knows if they were still even considering it now that he had left again? He fucked that up pretty good. And then there was the pack and Stiles.

Stiles had become more important that Derek had initially thought. He couldn’t understand it. Somehow the guy’s brand of self-deprecating humor and the fact that he’s generally an asshole is attractive. Yeah, Derek doesn’t really get it except that he does because nobody else deals with his shit by _not_ putting up with it. He may be a twat but he knows how to be supportive and is loyal as hell. Were they friends? Were they more? Derek had left before he’d figured it out beyond yes they were friends and yes they were close but he didn’t know what Stiles thought of it. So now he was going to go back to a mess.  God he wasn’t really ready; soon maybe, but not just yet.

Derek likes this bar. It’s quiet and has a really nice and relaxed atmosphere. He just sits in his booth in the back, lurking, Stiles would say but he’s just observing the people around him. It’s a wolf friendly bar so the beer he’s nursing will actually affect him. He watches the people in the bar. He watches the girl who’s clearly looking for someone for the night. He sees the guy drowning his sorrows and the group of friends out celebrating. He’s just about to figure out what they’re celebrating when the door opens and a new guy walks in with his buddy. Derek just knows the guy is an alpha and tries to make himself as unthreatening as possible. He’s actually gotten pretty good at it. He decides he’d rather listen to what the wolf is talking about anyway. There’s something familiar about him. Like he was maybe someone who came to meet with his mother on occasion. Derek listens as the guy starts, or rather continues, bragging to his friend.

“-he’s like  17 years old, maybe 18. This lanky little human boy, lean muscle, big eyes, doesn’t shut up. Must have been dabbling in magic with his pack because he has- wait for it. Wings. They actually were pretty cool looking. I’m giving the kid some time to think before I decide if he really is trophy material, you know what I mean? If I’m going to start fresh I need to start _right._ ”

“Dude, yeah you can’t just take the kid in if he’s not going to submit.”

Derek stops listening because he can’t believe what he’s hearing. This alpha- the more he concentrates he realizes the guys just a beta, a powerful one but just a beta, is disgusting.

Derek remembers him now; his name is Alvarez. His mother had never approved of his methods of creating pack. Mainly because he wasn’t making a pack he was making a collection. He’d find the unique betas or even omegas or any rare supernatural creature and bring them back to his mansion in the woods. If they made it that far, of course. Derek had heard his mother talk to his father about the methods of torture that would prove if the person was worthy to be a ‘trophy’. To make matters worse, the guy had been dumb enough to make a proposition for Derek’s cousin, Peter’s daughter Mary. And by ‘make a proposition’ read ‘actually tried to take her from Peter.’ Somehow the guy had managed to escape leaving an irate Peter clutching his daughter. And zombie Peter is only slightly crazier than pre-fire Peter. Honestly Derek never trusted his uncle because he always seemed willing to do anything to get what he wanted. Dudes crazy.

As Derek continued to listen to the description of the latest candidate his stomach was rolling. If he didn’t know Stiles was safe in Beacon Hills with Scott he’d have thought the beta had him. As it was he thought about what he’d do if it was his pack human that had somehow ended up with wings and in this assholes clutches. He’d probably would not be so cool, calm, and collected. Didn’t the kid have anyone looking for him? What if he didn’t? What if Derek was the only sane person listening? He didn’t know who the person was but it was just like he could hear his mother telling him to go rescue the poor kid.

So he waits. He doesn’t even finish his first beer. He just sits in the booth and watches the two wolves at the bar get tipsy. Alvarez’s friend leaves and 10 minutes later he’s stumbling out the door himself. Derek gets up and follows him all while hearing Stiles voice, “you’re a creeping creeper who creeps.” But this time it’s for a good reason. It’s always for a reason, dammit, he _isn’t_ a creeper. He follows the beta’s scent around a corner and comes face to face with the wolf.

“What do you want?”

He’s angry, more drunk than Derek thought initially, but the guy is still built like a brick house. Derek isn’t going to antagonize the guy into fighting if he has a choice. And yet-

“I want your trophy.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Derek Hale, son of Talia and Andrew.”

Derek knows his eyes are glowing with pride when he announces that. The guy’s face betrays his recognition of his name. The guy is clearly trying to decide if he’s going to challenge Derek or flee. Derek makes the decision for him.

One quick punch to his nose to disorientate him before he grabs one of the guy’s arms twists it behind his back until he hears it pop out of place. He keeps it there not letting the joint heal.

“Take me to him.” Derek growls.

Derek pushes him until the guy starts walking voluntarily and they make their way and it turns out that where he was leaving the poor kid was in the abandoned building only 3 blocks from the bar. When Derek catches sight of the latest candidate his anger gets the better of him. He wrenches Alvarez’s arm even further back and smashes his face into the nearest wall knocking him out cold. Derek’s never had the instinct or desire for killing, with the exception of Peter. He makes sure the wolf is really unconscious before he pulls out his phone. Wherever Peter is he’ll still relish in getting revenge on this guy and really the world will be better off without this guy in it. After leaving a voicemail for Peter with the guy’s name and location he takes in the state of the prisoner.

The wings are all bunched up and bound with rope. Jeez there really are wings on this kid. There’s a hood over his face and Derek can hear the strained, wheezing breaths coming from beneath it. The human’s legs are tied to separate poles keeping his feet apart in a stance that is just too wide to be comfortable. His wrists are handcuffed and the chain is hanging over a hook high up on the wall stretching the boy’s body constantly. Derek slowly approaches. He can smell the blood and urine and pain in the room and it all gets sharper the closer he gets. There is no reaction from the human; he’s probably barely conscious by this point. How long did Alvarez say he’d had him? The shirt thing he was wearing hangs in tatters over his bruised abdomen; Derek is just grateful there’s no claw marks or cuts that would be infected.  He’s trying to decide what to do first when he notices under the blood on the boys forearm: a mole. Oh god. He gently pulls the hood off and fuck fuck fuck it’s fucking Stiles and he’s been standing around like an idiot _thinking_. Slow and gentle go out the window as he reaches up and bends the hook so Stiles arms fall. He claws the ropes at his ankles and all the tension that was keeping his body upright is gone and Derek tries to catch him as he slumps. They kind of make their way to the floor together and Derek maneuvers around so his back is to the wall and Stiles is lying across his lap. He is conscious but hasn’t said anything and his eyes won’t focus when he looks at Derek and Derek’s freaking out and starts yelling.

“Stiles! Stiles speak! Move! Blink, do something!”

Yelling is getting him nowhere he attempts to calm down and stops smacking Stiles cheek. He drags his fingertips across Stiles face, into his hair. He sits there petting at Stiles face murmuring to him that he’s ok. It’s ok, Derek’s got him. He’s safe. Please come back. Say something anything. He’s listening intently as Stiles heartbeat picks up from its sluggish pace towards something healthier. His hand pauses in his ministration when he sees Stiles _focus_ on his face finally. 

 “Your timing- needs work.” Stiles finally breathes.

Derek lets out the breath he was holding and presses a hand lightly to his shoulder when Stiles tries to sit up.

“ _Thank God._ Don't try to move I'm going to get the ties off these...wings. Jesus, how do you have _wings_?”

“Witches and don't.” Stiles grunts out, slowly becoming more coherent.

“What why not?”

“They're broken. Pretty sure, I'll pass out if you take the ties off. Just, just take me home.”

_Home?_

“Home? You need a hospital that fucker said he had you for the last _week_. When was the last time he gave you any food or water?”

He’s got Stiles mostly upright again supporting his weight with one of Stiles arm’s slung over his shoulder and his own arm wrapped around Stiles waist trying to avoid the wings. As soon as he’s sure Stiles isn’t going to pass out if they move they start to shuffle out into the shadows towards the Camaro.

“Few days ago I think. You're forgetting I have _wings_ Derek. _Please_ just, where am I even?”

“Two hours from Beacon Hills.”

“Can we just go home, please?”

He sighs “I left a mess.”

“Damn right. Just, just call Scott and go to your loft.”

They’d made it back to the car and Derek was trying to maneuver Stiles and the wings to avoid jostling them. It doesn’t go too well. Once he’s lying flat on his stomach Derek leans into the car to talk briefly.

“My loft? That’s where the mess is! I'm taking you to your own damn house.”

“Just trust me for once. Take me to your loft.”

Derek doesn’t understand and wants to argue this point but Stiles must have used up what little energy he had and passed out right there with his face pressed in to the seat.

\---

Derek gets in the driver’s seat and takes off for home. He didn’t think he was ready to be back but now that he has no other choice it feels like it’s going to be okay. He isn’t filled with dread to be back in the city. He maybe even feels some anticipation to get back and see how everyone is doing. Of course there’s a certain amount of worry on his mind. Stiles still has fucking wings here and even as he enters Beacon Hills city limits he has yet to wake up. He gets to his loft and sighs. He may be ready to be back in town but he’s not ready for the mess he left in his wake.

The debt, the mess with the house and the land, the mess of his loft.

But this is what Stiles ordered so here they are. Derek gets him out of the car and into the loft without much trouble. Mainly because Stiles is still out cold and Derek just throws him over his shoulder to carry him this time. He opens the door to the loft.

Everything is clean. What the hell.

He takes Stiles over to his bed (it’s made up and everything what the fuck) and lays him face down on it. He goes back and shuts the door and starts to look around because what the actual fuck is going on in here. It smells like Stiles. There’s more stuff. Stuff like throw pillows, a clock in the kitchen, blankets on the couch, a hammock sling between two pillars. There’s food in the cupboards and meals frozen in the freezer. There's a clock in the bathroom now and more books on the bookshelf. His desk is clear but for Stiles laptop. He wanders over to the hammock and finds a duffle bag that smells like Stiles next to it.

Soon enough Stiles is stirring awake though. Derek watches him maneuver himself up off the middle of the bed and into a sitting position on the edge so his wings hang off the side. He rubs his eyes and looks to Derek.

"Did you call Scott?"

He ignores the question because obviously he called Scott and told him he'd found his best friend.

"Did you do all this?"

Derek gestures to the loft at large while Stiles just looks at his hands. It doesn’t take much to get an explanation, even if it is hesitant.

"I kept breaking things in my house. It’s open here, the wings they needed room and you were gone and then I needed something to keep me busy so I didn't go crazy so yeah. Yes I did."

Derek watches the wings try and twitch as he gets defensive; at every twitch Stiles winces and Derek doesn't need him to be in any more pain. He changes the subject.

"I called Scott he said he'd meet us here or send his mom if she got off work soon."

Stiles nods and makes grabby hands at him.

"Can I see your phone?"

Derek hands it over and watches Stiles type in a number and save it as a contact before calling the number. Derek listens as Stiles calls Melissa and describes his condition and what he’d had done to him. Derek can hear her tell him she'll be over in half an hour when she gets of shift.

When he hangs up he gets up off the bed completely and goes over to his duffle bag. He grabs clean clothes and turns to the stairs on wobbly legs.

“Ok she'll be here in an hour, which you probably heard. Feel free to, uh, eat. There should be a container of pulled pork right in the front of the freezer. I'm going to shower.”

“Want me to let your wings loose?”

 Stiles shakes his head.

“No they're numb right now. If you cut them loose and blood flow gets going again it’s going to hurt like hell. I'd rather shower first.'

Derek nods, "Ok. And thanks, for you know. The loft."

He struggles with words just when he doesn't want to. But Stiles gets a small hesitant smile on his face when he turns back to look at him again.

“Yeah, kept me from going crazy.

He walks to the stairs and without turning back says, “And I did a little more than just clean.”

Stiles heartbeat had kicked up like he's genuinely nervous to tell Derek about something.

“What.”

“Um I'll tell you after the shower. I promise.”

"Fine, fine."

Derek walks around the loft while Stiles showers listening to make sure he doesn’t hear a thud that means Stiles passed out. He starts to keep a running inventory of all the new things as he paces.  
In addition to all the other stuff there’s new sheets, new blankets, new pillows, décor, a sound system, and all the food.

_Where did he get the money?_

He's making his way to the desk when Stiles comes down. His wings are still bloody and dirty and now they're dripping all over the place. But he brought a towel with.

“Ok I think I’m ready for you to untie them.”

“I’m not untying them until you tell me where you got the money for all this.”

“Just- just promise you won't hate me.”

Stiles looks so afraid that that might actually happen and Derek is a little worried now as to how he got the money. He nods anyway.

“Ok so when this first happened my dad and Scott decided this was the best place to stick me until we figured stuff out. So first I cleaned. then I fixed stuff. Then the only thing left messed up was the desk and I read until my eyes went blurry and I got bored. So I decided to organize the desk. I-I didn't initially because it’s, well, rude. I was just going to organize it in the desk but I saw that it really was all past due credit card bills and your bank statements. At first I didn't get it. You had the money but you had debt too. But then I got it. You lived off the interest but never touched the original payments. I had a buddy I met at the Jungle he uh, invested a little bit of the interest. I put it back as soon as he made it back and then the profits he kept reinvesting. I paid off all the credit card debt and cancelled all but one of the cards since you seemed to have stopped using them anymore. I tried not to go crazy but I got some stuff you might like and stuff that made it easier being here. And because I paid for this stuff on the card and then paid the bills your building good credit again or something. Also, you're still making money. Dude’s a genius investor.”

Derek stood up and walked towards Stiles who still looked nervous. Derek hoped that bailing on Stiles and Beacon Hills hadn't ruined what they’d started completely.

“So you- you paid off my debt?”

“Uh, yes.”

“After you fixed up my loft.”

“Yes.”

Derek was right in Stiles personal space. Stiles broke eye contact and stared at the floor.

“All that’s left is for you to have gotten the house back from the county and you've fixed everything.”

Stiles looked up wide eyed.

“About that.”

“You got my house back.”

“Yes.”

Derek grabbed his face and kissed him. Light and quick before he pulled back. He watched Stiles eyes flutter open again.

“I was going to be witty and say 'I could kiss you'. I figured actions speak better than words anyway.”

“Uh no. No yeah, you've always been better with actions anyway.”

Before either of them can begin to explain why exactly that kiss was ok the door slammed open and Stiles knees buckled. Derek had to catch Stiles before he fell on his face as Scott and Melissa walked in. Derek watched Stiles face in concern. He was still conscious be barely; like he’d used up all his remaining energy from the nap in the car when he showered. He watched Stiles eyes flutter back open.

“Do I make you weak in the knees Stiles?” Derek whispered.

Stiles tried to glare, “If I could smack you I would.”

Derek chuckled and lifted Stiles arms around his neck.

“Hold on.”

He ordered as his hands slid down to behind Stiles thighs and lifted him off the ground. He got him over to the bed and laid him out face down in the middle. Derek had already talked to Scott and Melissa when he was driving into town. Melissa had gotten the truth out of him pretty easily when it came to what his plans were; he wasn’t going to leave again. He knew he was ready to be back, ready to build his future here. So he just got a hug from both of them before Melissa started to treat Stiles. Scott gave him a weird look that Derek assumed meant he’d heard them kiss but was content to make small talk after that.

It didn’t take long and Stiles had an IV in his arm, Melissa was leaving protein shakes, Gatorade and crackers on the bedside table and then it was time to untie the wings. Scott sat on the bed with his hand on Stiles’ ready to take some pain when Derek cut the bindings. Derek waited for Stiles to look over his shoulder and give him permission before he unsheathed his claws and carefully sliced through the rope. He cut through three ropes before the tension was gone and the battered wings shot out completely.

Stiles let out a small pained scream. Derek smells the salt before he noticed Stiles shoulders shuddering with sobs. He crawled onto the bed on the side opposite Scott and pulled some pain himself. Stiles was fighting to stay conscious until Derek leaned over and whispered, “Let go. I’ll be here. We’ll be here.”  Derek watched as he gave in and fell unconscious. The wings twitched and jerked for a long time after Stiles passed out. Melissa had just gotten off a twelve hour shift and Scott had to get back to Deaton’s so Derek was left to continue exploring his loft.

He grabbed The Count of Monte Cristo off his own bookshelf and decided to try out the hammock. He crawled into the thing and while it was comfortable it smelled overwhelmingly like Stiles. He’d been reading the book before he left and had seen little handwritten notes throughout that reminded him he’d stolen it from Stiles one night months ago. But the note at the end caught his eye in the familiar script.

Those who are good in this world are focused on the good they have already or can share with others.  
The bad comes from the people whose focus is on what they lack and what they lust after.

It all sounded vaguely religious but, given the tone set in the book with Abbé Faria maybe that was right. He didn’t know if Stiles mother was religious or not but he decided it didn’t matter. It was something to think about. Being content with what he had. Something in him had never allowed that. As a child he wanted the attention his older and younger siblings got; he was the forgotten middle child. He got that in Kate’s attention. Whether he knew she was a hunter and denied it aside, he was happy to have attention however stupid it was. Then he lost his family because of it. He wished for Laura’s strength and when he lost her he wished for vengeance. He supposes he got what he wanted there but at what cost? Killing what he thought was his last family member to be overwhelmed with the surge of alpha power. That’s what he got. He could keep going down this rabbit hole but honestly he’s sensing a pattern. He rereads the notation.

Stiles is a good. Yes, he’s a stubborn, persistent, inappropriate, sarcastic, unrepentant asshole for most of his days. But even so he is still the person who was best friends with Scott for years. Who stood by his best friend when he was thrown into the world of the supernatural. He’s the same kid who wanted to hurl at a bullet wound but was prepared to cut off an arm. Who kept Derek from drowning even when he didn’t trust him. This is the guy who watched his mom die and forces his dad to eat healthy in the pursuit of lowering those cholesterol reports. He’s the guy who apparently gets thrown into basements where his friends are tied up and antagonizes the crazy old werewolf hunter into beating him instead of them. Stiles is the guy who will save your ass and gripe about it while being terrified of failing. Who spends hours researching because the next page might have something useful. Who never trusted Peter but who let Derek come to that conclusion as well. He is the kid who willingly sacrificed himself in an ice bath to possibly find his father alive. Who kept four werewolves from killing themselves.

Stiles may be an asshole, a mischievous jerk, but he is loyal to his pack. Screw Scott having a pack that first year. _Stiles_ has had a pack since he was old enough to talk. He made himself ruler and appointed his dad as judge. His mother was comfort. He added Scott as a friend and Mrs. McCall as a secondary mom. Allison got added in as a fellow mischief maker and person who loves Scott. Somehow Derek got added to the list, probably as an annoyance at first, a protector next, and a friend last. His betas were a part of the group too because as much as Stiles complained or was uncomfortable with them he still protected them. That, all of that, is what Derek is attracted to. Stiles wouldn’t hurt someone in his pack. He might annoy them, tell them the truth when a white lie would hurt less, or let them realize they’re only hurting themselves all on their own. But Stiles wouldn’t betray his pack’s trust and hurt them. Stiles being one of the first people Derek has trusted in a long time doesn’t hinder his affections at all either. Stiles is a good. He knows what he has and fights to keep it. More was added to him and he fought to protect them. It’s maybe a little self-aggrandizing but maybe Derek can be something that gets ‘added’ to Stiles. Because since Derek realized he’s happy as a beta and doesn’t want anything different, maybe Stiles will be a good for him.

Derek has just been staring at Stiles sleeping while he came to these conclusions. Book forgotten he puts it carefully in Stiles’ duffle bag when he climbs out of the hammock. The wings stopped twitching twenty minutes ago. A shift in Stiles heartbeat lets Derek know he’s asleep instead of just unconscious. He pads over to the bed and looks at the wings closer.

They’re a mess. Feathers broken and ruffled and crooked in places. There’s still blood, too. He goes to the bathroom and returns with a damp wash cloth and a towel. He sits next to Stiles’ head with the top of the wing in his lap. He starts with light touches. He straightens the crooked feathers. They twitch when he gets close to the ones that are snapped and broken. He leaves those and starts to wipe the blood off. He gets lost in the gentle touches and wipes and straightening and misses it when Stiles wakes up. He’s already on the second wing when he hears Stiles mumble.

“What?”

“I said- you should stop. If you don’t want something awkward to happen.”

“Stiles-“

“It feels, like a massage. Part good. Part amphfing…”

Derek heard him, can smell it is more accurate but decides to tease.

“What was that, Stiles?” he says with a grin.

“I said it’s arousing!” he barks as he lifts his head before he catches Derek’s grin. Stiles narrows his eyes at the smirk.

“Jerk.”

Derek just shakes his head while Stiles buries his face in the pillow again. Derek was almost done anyway. He finishes the last little part and gets up off the bed. When he gets back from taking the towels to the wash Stiles is sitting up.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore, and tired, and god I’m starving but better at the same time.”

“Can I fix the broken feathers?”

Stiles winces, “I’ll do it, thanks though. You could get me some food though?”

“Crackers and Gatorade. Orders from Nurse McCall.”

Stiles groaned.

“Fine hand ‘em over.”

While Derek went to grab the food Stiles quickly takes care of the feathers. When he’s done it’s like nothing even happened. Stiles manages to get a handful of crackers down and a half a bottle of Gatorade before he’s tired again. Derek watches his eyes droop and his yawns become for frequent.

“Want to sleep again?”

Stiles nods.

“Bed or hammock?”

Stiles flexes the wings and doesn’t wince.

“Hammock.”

Derek watches in curious fascination as Stiles curls the wings around his form as he eases into the cloth. He hears Stiles heartbeat fall into a slow steady pace. He collapses on the bed and falls asleep himself.

It’s definitely the next day when he wakes up. Stiles is up and munching on crackers while he makes eggs and toast and bacon. Apparently it’s for Derek. They talk over breakfast. How much Derek needed the space to think. How much Stiles missed him. How they both want to try something like dating. They talk about how even with the control Stiles has the loft is still a better place for him with the wings. If they’re going to seriously start what could be a relationship Derek doesn’t want to jump to being casually intimate or do anything sexual. Stiles is all on board with going slow; making this different from Derek’s other attempts at relationships. They decide Derek will go stay in his room. Derek takes his bag with him and goes to the Stilinski house to find a note on the table from the Sheriff telling him to make himself at home; they’re having steak for dinner.

They have ‘dates’ where Derek comes over and Stiles cooks and they watch a movie. It takes hanging out for another two weeks before Derek kisses him again.

Unsurprisingly the ensuing make out session is _great._

It surprises Derek when Stiles pulls them over to the hammock but damn if that’s not a great decision. He lets himself get pulled down on top of Stiles until they’re lying flush with each other. Stiles slots his thigh between Derek’s while they kiss. He teases for a while just kissing Derek lightly; on the lips, on the check, the neck. Until Derek can’t take it and seals his lips against Stiles’. It’s his turn to tease when he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of Stiles lips. When Derek rolls his hips slowly he pushes his tongue in when Stiles gasps. He gets caught up in Stiles letting him explore, nip and suck on his lips. So caught up he nearly bites down when he feels the wings fall across his back. They move up and down like Stiles is running his hands down his back but better because the wings wrap them up in this comfortable _warmth_.

He doesn’t know how long that continues but Stiles pulls away from the kiss with a gasp. Derek isn’t deterred just moves down to give his neck some much needed attention.

“I’m sorry- _oh_ \- you, uh, really seemed to- _ohmygod_ \- like the thing with the wings but- _cheeseandrice_ \- its rocking the hammock and- _shit_ \- I’m getting motion sick.”

Derek laughs against the spot he was just sucking on, blowing the cool air across it and Stiles shivers.

“It’s fine Stiles just don’t tell me I have to stop kissing you and we’ll be fine.”

Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“Oh yeah?”

Derek tries to prop himself up on an elbow and almost tips them out of their perch. They’re both laughing when Derek brushes the backs of his fingers down Stiles cheek with a smile.

“Yeah.”

After that they get lost in each other again for a long time until Derek decides to tickle Stiles ribs and they end up a tangled pile of limbs on the floor.

 

Eventually Derek convinces Stiles he can come outside at night to go see the progress on the Hale land. Derek has to drive the jeep while Stiles lays in the back but it’s worth the trip. They get out there and Stiles gets to see for the first time what his phone calls and emails all lead to. The old house ruins are gone and the foundation torn out. It’s an all new building that is smaller than the original but still big enough to have a family in. And doesn’t that strike up a conversation about what Derek sees in his future and what Stiles wants after college. Derek growls when Stiles says he’s going to community college and Stiles flits his wings and jumps backwards with the force. Derek looks dumbfounded and Stiles realizes he doesn’t know that Stiles can fly. In fact this is the first time he’s done this outside. He grins at Derek like the prankster he is and takes off. He flies around the house; it’s a struggle to stay below the tree line. He does more gliding now that he’s got more space and more distance to cover. He nosedives at Derek once before he pulls up at the last second. That gets him an instinctual response of a swipe of claws that he has to dodge. That effectively ends the evening because Derek panics that he could have hurt him. They leave for the night as the sky starts to lighten and stars start to fade away. They come back every other night. Stiles gets to stretch his wings and Derek gets to watch.

Oddly enough, spending time together, getting to know each other even more, and spending so much time kissing each other leads to the relationship they were hoping for. Stiles had to fill in Derek on the fact that they can't do anything about the wings but wait for the curse to fade. And the fact that the wings haven’t faded even a little starts to be a worry as the summer draws to an end. It’s not like Stiles can go off to school like this. They’re out at the house one night a few weeks before schools starts. About an hour in Derek stops him to ask if he should be losing all these feathers. Stiles laughs and takes off again.

“Derek, did you see that post about the pilots?”

“Be more specific Stiles,” Derek yelled.

Stiles sighed.

“The one that’s like ‘TURN DOWN: my copilot yells. TURN DOWN FOR WHAT: I yell back as I Icarus this bitch.”

He laughs and flies higher. It’s like 3:30 am, nobody’s awake to see him fly above the tree tops. Of course that means that nobody but Derek is awake to see more and more feathers fall and fade from the wings as he climbs. Derek yells frantically for Stiles to stop to come back down but Stiles can’t hear him. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to realize what’s happening though.

“Derek they’re fading!” His initial excitement though turns into panic. “Oh _fuck_ they’re fucking fading. Oh fuck. I fucked up! Derek help I fucked up. _Fuck.”_

Derek watches him try to come down with his wings spread completely out; trying to give himself as much air resistance as possible. Derek tries to catch him as best he can but there’s too much force behind his fall and they crash into the ground together. Derek holds Stiles carefully as he groans.

“Stiles?! Are you ok? Did you break anything?”

“Give me. A minute. To catch. My breath.”

Derek waits until Stiles breathing slows and realizes he can’t smell any pain coming from Stiles.

“Are you ok?”

“I think so. Are you?”

“I’m- fine. Yeah just- you scared the shit out of me.”

Stiles nods and leans up from where he’s still lying in Derek’s lap to kiss him sweetly.

“Sorry, I’ll be more careful.”

Derek guesses that’s as good an answer as he’s going to get. And slides his hands around Stiles back to hold him close but Stiles hisses at the pressure.

“What the-“

“The fuck is that?”

Stiles tries to look over his shoulder but Derek just turns him to look at his back.

“Uh, Stiles, you’re wings. They’re, uh, they’re on your back still.”

“What like a tattoo?”

“Exactly like.”

Stiles puts his face in his hands and sighs.

“Fucking drunk witches.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think; also nobody but me proofed this so let me know if you spot anything I can fix.


End file.
